


Not Forgotten

by phyrestorm



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Aliens, Disabilities, Future Fic, M/M, Memories, War, War veterans, elderly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:18:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9203534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phyrestorm/pseuds/phyrestorm
Summary: In the twilight of a very long life, the last Colteron War veteran on Earth spends an evening remembering someone who never made it home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is another way [The Praxic View](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3412715/chapters/7472987) could go but won't. It should still make sense if you haven't read that.

Well, it's that time of year again. Time to honor those who were killed in what a few of us oldsters still think of as the Colteron War.

It's been a century. Can you believe it? One hundred years to the day since we defeated the HardEx. Hardline Expansionists. "The Colterons" as we called them then, because the only ones we knew about were the ones who wanted to kill us.

One hundred years since you were among the last to die for a mistake.

I like to think of myself as a positive person. I credit my long, rewarding life in part to not dwelling on sad memories, which means I don't think of you nearly as often as you deserve. 

We'd won. The enemy shipyard was stardust. Something really weird had happened with the Reliant, but no one cared. We were just joyful to be alive.

The Tiberius's guidance system was completely blown. Nothing I could do about it other than wait to be picked up, but that was okay. No big deal, just a few nervous minutes waiting until the rescue ships collected all the injured and got around to those of us who just had mechanical problems. 

That's what I thought we were--what you wanted me to think, and it worked. You were a terrible liar, but you fooled me there at the end when you said you were fine. Brusque as usual, discouraging any further attempts at conversation, until...

"Ethos..?"

I think a part of me knew right then. Something was different in your voice. Different and very, very wrong.

"Ethos. Come here?"

I squeezed between compartments and there you were, lying back in your seat, staring out the window at the swirling remains of the shipyard. Then you grabbed me, hugged me so hard I couldn't breathe, and whispered in my ear:

"You did good, kid. So good.. Hng...so..brave...s-smart..."

You were gasping. So was I. I thought you were just crying too.

I thought you slackened your grip on purpose.

I really shouldn't have kissed you. I would say I'm sorry, but the truth is, I've always been glad I did it, from the moment you kissed me back and held me, even as I tasted blood. 

You slumped back, your one eye focused on something behind me. A look of wonder filled your face, you reached out a trembling hand, and then you were gone.

Oh, my poor, silly, noble, broken, beautiful Fighter. 

I, Clarence Cuthbert Jensen-Collins, went on to help negotiate the treaty that just may have saved the human race. They made me an officer for that. I don't even remember how many medals I've got cluttering up a drawer somewhere. The library at my alma mater is named after me. Right now, students awarded the scholarship Jaime and I founded are using it to write dissertations based on my books. 

If this doesn't sound like the Ethos you knew, that's because it's not. Your "Yappy" died with you in the Tiberius that day.

Yes, I know what you called me. Like I said, you were a terrible liar. Deceit just wasn't in your nature. And you talked in your sleep.

Speaking of things you were bad at hiding, Abel is fine. He's only three Earth years from his destination now. But he's not Abel anymore; he's Governor Ethan Clinton, waiting to take charge of the civilians of Rigil Colony while Commander Alexei Andropov handles the soldiers. When they come out of stasis, they'll only be 35 and 33.

The sun is setting, which means it's almost time to put you away for another year. My daughter just reminded me of that by ramming her wheelchair into mine! KIDS! 

Yes, Elanora, I know you have grandchildren who are legal adults. Stop reading over my shoulder, young lady!

Ela deserves most of the credit for getting Keeler's Law passed. Everyone loves a tragic war hero, but it was her gift for words and willingness to show the world what the mods had done to her that really won over the public. Thanks to both of them, the number of children demonstrably harmed by the mods has gone from thousands every year to one or two per decade.

Four generations of soldiers know Ela's other, biological father as Admiral de Bosque. Historians know him as the last known surviving Sol-bound Fighter of the HardEx War. The medical community knows him as one of the oldest unmodded humans to ever live. You knew him as Lieutenant Encke. To me, he was my Jaime, and he took wonderful care of me for the better part of a century until his big heart finally gave out.

We both cared for you as much as you and circumstances would allow.

It's dark now. Time to let Ksstvchkl lift these crumbling old bones into bed with the softest of her many limbs. 

We're quite a pair, the two of us. Born/hatched within hours of each other, advocates for our warring peoples, best friends after decades of verbal sparring. Two old diplomats sharing our retirement, hand in pedipalp. 

The truth is, I doubt either of us will see another anniversary. And that's okay. Pardon my Ixchlese, but 119 years is a hell of a run.

Good night, Praxis. You are not forgotten.


End file.
